


How galaxies collide

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens), soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: The corners of Crowley’s mouth twitched upward. “Course you like animals. You’re an angel.”His only reply was a sound that was – he hoped – non-committal. Without any trace of guilt. He didn’t like animals simply because he was an angel. It wasn’t the kind of universal love for Her creation he should feel. Instead it was something … selfish, something that wasn’t appropriate for an angel.Animals were intelligent creatures. They perceived subtleties in a way that others – humans, but supernatural beings as well – couldn’t sense, at least not intuitively like animals. Just like before: Aziraphale had been worried by a mere memory, and the rabbit had shuffled closer, offering him comfort.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 198
Collections: comfort fics





	How galaxies collide

**Author's Note:**

> One moment I'm asking myself what happened to Harry the rabbit, the next I'm writing a soft hurt/comfort fic with a touch-starved Aziraphale ... By the way, I love this fandom for the already existing tags - and Harry being included in the character list!
> 
> The title is a poem by Sanober Khan: "Your hand touching mine. This is how galaxies collide." I just couldn't resist this ;)

The bookshop was quite definitely closed.

Its doors were never closed for Crowley, though, so Aziraphale knew who had come to visit as soon as he heard footsteps in the salesroom. Not that he needed such a banal thing like the sound of footsteps to notice him; the demon had his very own aura, if you wanted to call it like that.

“I’m in the backroom”, he called softly. It was unnecessary information; his own ethereal aura would tell Crowley where he was. Still, it was polite to let him know verbally as well.

The footsteps quickened, and a few moments later Crowley sauntered into the room.

“Hey, angel.” Then, after a pause: “And rabbit. Harry, wasn’t it?”

“You remember him!” Aziraphale smiled at him across the cuddly heap of fur in his arms. “I was so happy to find Harry here. I must thank Adam for restoring my little friend as well.”

If having been discorporated in the bookshop fire and revived by the Antichrist himself had had any lasting impact on Harry the rabbit, he didn’t show it. He seemed rather content while having his ears scratched by the angel of the Eastern gate.

“He looks well-cared of”, Crowley remarked. He was still standing in the doorframe and showed no intention of moving closer. He was always cautious around animals. Some instinct seemed to warn them that a snake was near, clever little creatures. “How do you manage that? You tend to get lost in books, and that for days.”

“A little miracle keeps the hutch clean and his food bowls full.” Harry blinked lazily at the mention of food, but stayed in Aziraphale’s arms.

“I’m surprised that you kept him. I thought you’ve had quite enough of animals after being penned up with a whole zoo on the Ark.”

“Goodness, that was really some clutter back then. Although it wasn’t that bad for me, personally. I was a dove, after all, and had more space to move than many others.”

“I remember.” Crowley nodded, lost in memories. “You were a tiny white ball amidst all that chaos. And you were soaked.” He revealed a toothy grin. “Absolutely not as graceful as all those illustrations show you with the olive branch.”

“Everybody was soaked”, Aziraphale huffed. Then he frowned and stopped scratching Harry’s ears. “I kept thinking about you, back then. Wondering where you had gone, and what had happened to you during the flood. You had me worried.”

“There was no need to”, Crowley explained, trying to sound casual. He almost succeeded. “Spent most of the time in Australia, lazing on the rocks, basking in the sun. Probably inspired some myths about giant snakes.”

“I’m sure you did.” The angel smiled fondly. He knew very well that the demon wasn’t telling the whole truth. He thought back to glimpses of a large crow on the horizon. The bird had only appeared after the rain had stopped, however, and he had been worried. They had barely met each other during the millennium before, but their first encounter on the wall of Eden … Despite having spent all of his existence before that day amongst angels, a comforting word to ease his worries had been a rarity. Even something unprecedented. And from a demon at that, an _enemy_ , who had only met him sheer moments before –

Harry snuggled a bit deeper into his arms.

“I like animals”, Aziraphale said, finally answering Crowley’s original question.

The corners of Crowley’s mouth twitched upward. “Course you do. You’re an angel.”

His only reply was a sound that was – he hoped – non-committal. Without any trace of guilt. He didn’t like animals simply because he was an angel. It wasn’t the kind of universal love for Her creation he should feel. Instead it was something … selfish, something that wasn’t appropriate for an angel.

Animals were intelligent creatures. They perceived subtleties in a way that others – humans, but supernatural beings as well – couldn’t sense, at least not intuitively like animals. Just like before: Aziraphale had been worried by a mere memory, and the rabbit had shuffled closer, offering him comfort. It was such a simple gesture, honest and endearing. It was a blessing.

Aziraphale patted Harry’s back, relishing the feeling of soft fur beneath his palms, the warmth of the rabbit’s little body in his arms. It was completely different from all interactions he had had in Heaven’s white, cold halls. Things like embraces didn’t exist up there, not even pats on the shoulders or handshakes. Only blank smiles. Not that anybody in Heaven ever complained about the lack of genuine warmth. Not that Aziraphale ever dared to complain.

Angels didn’t need comfort. _He_ didn’t need comfort. Angels gave comfort to humanity. They offered spiritual comfort, not physical one, touches and hugs and the like. Besides, an angel wasn’t supposed to want anything.

But Aziraphale _wanted_. He had felt the positive emotions – the relief, the joy, the _love_ – humans connected with caresses. He had witnessed how a simple touch had taken the sharp bite away from grief, had fallen into the darkness of despair like a ray of light. It would be nice, he thought, to experience something like that himself.

However, the only being he wished to treat him so tenderly – the only being who would never deny him such comfort, but would give it willingly – was a forbidden fruit, so to speak.

Had been, he corrected himself. There was no _my side_ and _your side_ any longer. Instead, it was _our side_. He still wasn’t used to it. After six thousand years of always observing their surroundings, always looking over their shoulders, always weighing every tiny gesture – always denying his longing … After six thousand years Aziraphale found that he couldn’t let go of those habits, no matter how much he wanted. He had never been good at asking for things anyway, but he seemed to have completely forgotten how to do it by now.

With Harry, things were simple, Aziraphale thought while he scratched the rabbit behind its ears. Animals didn’t ask questions, and angels could cuddle with them. Upstairs might consider it odd, but that wasn’t anything new. They had always considered him odd.

He looked up as Crowley strode closer. He did so slowly, as if to give the rabbit enough time to get used to his presence. “Something on your mind, angel?”

Guiltily, Aziraphale concentrated on Harry again. Of course Crowley would know. He always did. The demon would scoff at the comparison, but he had a sense for Aziraphale’s worries just like the rabbit.

“Just thinking about animals”, he said, thus not stretching the truth too far, “and how nice cuddling with them is.” He felt Crowley’s eyes on him, causing his neck to itch and his cheeks to redden.

The demon squatted down next to him. Tentatively, he reached out to pat Harry’s back – or that was what Aziraphale thought was about to happen. But then Crowley placed his hand gently upon his own.

His touch was warm, and soft, and sent a jolt through the angel’s whole body. He wanted to maintain the contact, but he also wanted to withdraw his hand. He had to. Angels didn’t need to –

“You’re trembling, angel”, Crowley observed quietly. “And I think you’re about to squeeze Harry.”

“Oh, I – I didn’t mean to. R-really, I, I’m sorry – ”

While he kept stuttering, Crowley untangled the rabbit from his grip and set Harry down into his hutch. In the process, the demon’s hand slipped away from his, leaving it cold and scorched at the same time. Aziraphale ached for his touch, just a bit more, just another brush. His hand reached out to grab Crowley’s, but stopped halfway. Angels didn’t need comfort. He drew his hand back and forced it onto his thigh, palm down, away from Crowley.

But the demon was still so close. He was right next to him, their shoulders were almost touching, and he radiated warmth. Aziraphale’s hand still tingled where Crowley had touched him. But he pressed his lips into a thin line and repeated what he had been told through six thousand years – angels don’t need comfort, angels offer spiritual comfort, angels don’t want anything. All the while he tried not to lean closer towards the demon.

Wordlessly, Crowley reached out once more and took Aziraphale’s clenched hand; it trembled between his palms. The angel wanted to say something, anything, to excuse his silly behaviour and explain himself. However, his lips wouldn’t part, not for a single syllable. It was ridiculous. It was just a touch!

And still, he couldn’t help uttering a fragile little sound the moment Crowley withdrew one of his hands again, nor could he help shuddering when he placed it on the small of his back instead. With gentle pressure, the demon coaxed him into getting up. Aziraphale’s knees were wobbly, and he leaned heavily onto Crowley as they moved to the couch. The way felt unbearably long with the demon’s hand on his back and his fingers twined around Aziraphale’s, but eventually he sat down.

Crowley still stood in front of him. “Let’s get more comfortable”, he said and raised one hand, ready to perform a miracle. Then an idea occurred to him, and instead of snapping his fingers, he placed his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved them down his arms. Beneath his touch, jacket and waistcoat and shirt turned into soft cotton. If Aziraphale had looked down, he would have noticed the tartan, maybe would have smiled because of it. But he didn’t look down. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Crowley’s golden eyes – he didn’t wear his glasses anymore when it was just the two of them. They were tender, just like his touch, yet Aziraphale couldn’t stop trembling.

“Come here, angel.” Without breaking the contact once, Crowley laid down onto the couch, pulling Aziraphale with him. All of a sudden he found himself pressed against Crowley. The demon’s arms were warm around him. Even his scent was warm, like sand on a beach or an open fire on a winter’s night. His embrace sent sparks all over Aziraphale’s skin. He found himself frozen like the literal rabbit in front of the snake. A part of him ached to give in, to surrender to Crowley’s alluring warmth, and yet he was tense and couldn’t move a single muscle. Nobody had ever held him like this before. It almost hurt.

But letting go would hurt more.

“You know”, Crowley whispered, and when had he brought his mouth so close to Aziraphale’s ear? He felt his breath on his skin and shuddered. “It’s okay to want something. It’s not selfish. It’s not inappropriate. It doesn’t make you bad. And even if it does, just for a tiny, tiny bit … I won’t judge you.” Crowley’s voice turned into a quiet plea. “You know that, don’t you?”

The slight tremor in his voice was the last nudge the angel needed. He reached out – his hands were shaking – and wrapped his arms around Crowley. The demon’s clothes had changed as well and were of silk now, soft and cool against his skin. Crowley hummed softly, a sound that Aziraphale felt against his own chest. He dared to tilt his head, to rest it on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley’s hands wandered up his back, soothing, comforting. Then, fingertips, light as feathers, grazed over Aziraphale’s bare neck to eventually sink into his hair. With one hand on the back of his head and one hand around his middle, the demon cradled him close like a child that had woken from a nightmare and had come to him to seek comfort. Aziraphale trembled.

“Tell me if it gets too much”, Crowley asked in a hushed voice.

A harsh sob pierced through the silent bookshop – Aziraphale was surprised to realise that it had come across his very own lips. His fingers dug deeper into Crowley’s shirt while he shuffled closer to him, desperate for his presence, his warmth, his affection.

“Too much”, he mumbled miserably once he had found the words again. His voice was muffled, his words swallowed by the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. “Not enough.”

Crowley’s fingers kept moving through his curls. His hand was a warm, steady weight on his back. “Take all the time you need, dove.”

Dove. Not angel. Aziraphale dug his face closer against Crowley’s collarbone, taking in his scent and fighting back another sob. He failed, but Crowley only patted his back. No reproaches, no impatience. Of course not. Not from Crowley. Never from Crowley.

He sighed deeply, and somehow it helped to lift that dreadful weight from his shoulders. He was just tired now.

Once more, Crowley knew him better than he knew himself. “Take a rest”, he said simply. His arms were still around Aziraphale, keeping him anchored.

“Don’t want to”, he sniffed against the demon’s chest. “I don’t want to miss this.”

“You won’t.” Crowley’s breath was a warm waft on his forehead. “I’ll still be here when you wake up. Promise.”

The last tension seeped from Aziraphale’s body. He felt safe. Crowley would never lie to him. After all, Crowley was … Crowley was his …

And before he could even finish that thought, the angel succumbed to sleep.

***

Aziraphale didn’t sleep often, but waking up had never felt so good, not in six thousand years. Even with closed eyes and sleep only gradually loosening its grasp on him, he immediately felt safe. Secure, protected. Loved, he thought with a lump in his throat and a flutter in his chest.

He blinked his eyes open and looked directly into Crowley’s face. They had shifted during his nap, and now Crowley was sitting up, leaning back against the couch with Aziraphale’s head in his lap. One hand was in Aziraphale’s hair while the other gently clasped the angel’s own hand.

“Hey”, the demon said quietly. Nonetheless, his voice was loud in the quiet bookshop. The shelves and furniture seemed to be hidden behind a blue-grey veil; it was neither night nor day, but some strange, timeless in-between. “Hope you had sweet dreams.”

Aziraphale raised their intertwined hands until they rested right above his heart. It was a comforting sensation. “Thank you, Crowley.”

The demon smirked, but even in the strange half-light the angel saw that he was blushing. “It’s just a saying. Nothing to get excited about.”

Aziraphale smiled weakly. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Thought as much. Gave it a try nonetheless.”

For a moment, Crowley’s gaze flickered away as if he couldn’t look into Aziraphale’s eyes anymore. His hesitation only lasted a second, though, before he watched the angel in his lap again. “Still, there’s no need to thank me.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “But I want to. You always take such good care of me.”

The demon was silent, and Aziraphale didn’t think that he would receive an answer anymore. But then Crowley spoke.

“Hell is crammed”, he began, seemingly changing the subject. “Demons are always bumping against one another, pushing and fighting for space. If somebody in Hell touches you, it isn’t nice. It leaves bruises.” His thumb rubbed a gentle circle across the back of Aziraphale’s hand, a stark contrast to the world he was evoking with his words. Aziraphale had seen this world: dark corridors, indefinable stench, deafening noise. He had vowed to himself that Crowley would never have to return to that place. “But when the other demons push you aside, at least they recognise that you’re there. Existing. And that’s still better than what Heaven’s doing. They’re cold. They just cut you off from any physical touch.”

“It’s not about any physical touch.” Gathering his courage, Aziraphale raised his free hand. “It’s about warmth.” His fingers trembled, but he placed them on Crowley’s cheek. “Affection.” The demon’s eyes widened. “Tenderness.” His thumb brushed Crowley’s lower lip, feeling the waft of breath on his skin. It made him tingly, but he didn’t withdraw his hand. Not this time. “It’s about love.”

Now Crowley inhaled sharply. Then, a pause. “You don’t have to do this.”

Despite his own words, he leaned down in answer to Aziraphale’s quiet plea – little more than a feather-light twitch of his fingers on Crowley’s cheek.

A tiny, tiny part of him – the part that had told him through six thousand years what was appropriate for an angel – wanted to take the way out Crowley offered him. Angels didn’t care for demons, after all, and demons didn’t care for angels, definitely not in this way, and even if they did, it was dangerous and could only lead to pain –

He would _not_ listen to this cruel voice. How could he, with Crowley gazing down on him like that, golden eyes tender and open and oh, so vulnerable? He knew that Crowley would withdraw if he asked him to, tell him that it was alright, and keep his longing hidden behind a casual smile and dark glasses. But he would be hurt, and that was a thought Aziraphale couldn’t bear.

Besides, whom was he fooling anyway? Angels might not care for demons, but Aziraphale loved Crowley.

“I want to”, he said. “I really do.”

The touch of his fingers on Crowley’s cheek was still light. Yet Aziraphale craned his neck, heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, and Crowley leaned further down, eyes gleaming with something _ineffable_ , and their lips met in the middle.

The caress – it was more of a brush than a kiss – sent a jolt through Aziraphale’s whole body. It made his skin tingle, his heart beat even faster, and his breath hitch, all of that within the blink of an eye. It was too much, but not in a painful way. It was too much to comprehend, to feel at once; too much in the sense that Aziraphale needed time to properly explore it, several tries, a next time.

They parted infinitesimally; not even a feather from their own wings would have fit between their lips. After another heartbeat, Crowley moved his head, or Aziraphale moved his, or both of them moved, and they kissed again.

Their second kiss was as gentle as their first, a tender brush of lips against lips, careful, almost hesitant, as if too much pressure could hurt that fragile something between them. They broke the kiss, just to search each other’s lips again the next moment. Now both of them remembered that there wasn’t a fragile something between them, but love, clear and bright and strong with six thousand years of shared history, and they kissed with a little more courage.

After some more soft kisses, both of them took deep breaths. Crowley still sat in a stooped position, his forehead resting against Aziraphale’s. The angel longed for more contact between them – it wasn’t a desperate, almost violent need like before, but a calmer, nonetheless adamant yearning. He shuffled to sit up. Crowley understood immediately and moved a hand to his back, steadying him and helping him up. Eventually Aziraphale was pressed against the demon’s chest, one hand around his neck, one cradling his cheek.

“Crowley”, he said softly and gave him another kiss.

“Aziraphale”, the demon breathed after they had parted. His voice was small, as if he couldn’t believe they had just shared a kiss, let alone several ones. “If you ever feel this way again”, he swallowed, “remember that you’re loved. Please.” Another audible swallow. “Remember me.” He was growing nervous, the angel noticed fondly as Crowley began to babble on: “If you ever are in need of a shoulder to lean on, or of somebody who jussst lissstens, or if you want to be hugged and – and kissed – I’ll get to you at once, wherever I am. I’ll – ”

“Don’t leave in the first place”, Aziraphale interrupted him. “Stay with me.”

“You want me to stay?”

The angel couldn’t help smiling as he heard the hope, the delight in Crowley’s voice. “Of course I do.” He rested his head on the demon’s shoulder. “I love you, Crowley.”

At that, Crowley cradled his head between his hands, thus nudging him to look at him. “And I love you, Aziraphale.” He drew him closer for another kiss. Aziraphale smiled against his lips and wrapped his arms around Crowley. Every single touch was thrilling, yet also a bliss and a comfort. Once more he felt safe and loved. He always did when he was with Crowley. Crowley, he now finished the thought that had slipped from him right before he had fallen asleep, was the love of his life.

“A penny for your thoughts”, Crowley eventually mumbled into the space between them. “You’re positively beaming.”

Aziraphale pulled him closer to bridge the distance between them once more. “Take a guess, my dearest.”

***

If witnessing how the story of six thousand years of pining finally came to an end had any lasting impact on Harry the rabbit (who was dosing in his hutch), he didn’t show it. Except for a wiggle with one of his ears, maybe.


End file.
